


I'm Just A Painter, And I'm Drawing A Blank

by emeraldcitydowntowngirl



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Band, M/M, artist!pete, florist!patrick, pete's such an idiot i love it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-05
Updated: 2016-01-05
Packaged: 2018-05-11 22:22:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5643976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emeraldcitydowntowngirl/pseuds/emeraldcitydowntowngirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>otp prompt: you’re a florist and your apartment is gorgeous and colorful and vibrant, and i’m an artist and i really want to come over and draw your place but i have no idea how to approach you</p><p>(OR: Pete's kind of the most awkward guy on the planet, Patrick's kind of an amazing florist who can't aim a baseball bat for his life)</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Just A Painter, And I'm Drawing A Blank

**Author's Note:**

> me: writes something when i have free time, doesnt save it for later when im not free and wont be able to post it when i actually have things to do
> 
> ALSO: i'm not an artist in the slightest, so im sorry if i didnt use proper terminology or i just in general used wrong phrases! i only passed 8th grade art because i was quiet and did nothing but listen to music and color in the lines! 
> 
> ALSO: i dont actually know anything about flowers either! why the fuck did i write this!

Pete is locked out of his apartment. Again.

That wouldn’t be a problem, except for the fact that he had two drawings to hand in, and he hasn’t even started the second one, and hasn’t even finished the first one. So, he’s sitting in front of his apartment, his knees brought up to his chest slightly, so that he can rest his sketch book there, and he has a pencil in his hand. And one would think that he's working on his projects. But nope, he's doodling genitalia. 

Commissions, you know? Have to make rent somehow when you’re paying for your own college classes. He’s actually pretty good at drawing… well, any style. From water paintings, to cartoons, to angular tattoo designs. He’d say he’s gifted but he doesn’t like to brag- plus, his rooomate, who by the way should have been back an hour ago, Travie, is a much better artist than him.

Plus, the drawing helps distract him from the fact that he’s _thiiiis_ close from having a mental breakdown. So, he draws and draws, the sound of the elevator _ding_ -ing and the shouting from one of the apartments down the hall keeping him company. In fact, he’s only distracted when the door right opposite his door opens, and a man in a fedora walks out, talking on the phone.

It’s not unusual that Pete never sees his neighbors, since he’s usually holed up in his apartment but _holy hell_ how did he miss this guy?

Because this boy is one of the prettiest guys Pete’s ever seen in his life (and Pete looks in the mirror every day) with soft-looking strawberry blond hair, and a smile that makes Pete’s stomach flutter. And yet, that’s not the only thing that has caught Pete’s eye.

Because his _apartment is gorgeous._ Pete’s only seeing half of it, since the owner has the door almost entirely open. And he sees flowers, upon flowers, upon flowers. They’re all different colors, yet they complement each other so perfectly, and vines are growing on the walls and on the ceiling. And the thing is, Pete’s hardly even seeing it, and it’s beautiful! But, before he can admire it more, the owner finds his keys, his phone pressed to his ear, and swings the door shut, blocking Pete’s view of the pretty flowers.

“I’ll have your order ready in two days, sir. The store is open from 10 A.M to 8 P.M, so if you come in any time then, I’ll have it ready. Thanks for choosing us!” The owner’s voice is soft, yet firm, and he turns around on his heels to press the button on the elevator.

The owner of the apartment eyes Pete once his eyes land on him- and Pete can’t blame him. He looks like he got dressed in a garbage can, his hair hasn’t been washed in a week, and he’s just sitting in front of the door to his apartment. And before Pete can say “Hello, I’m in love with you and your apartment”, the fedora man glances down at Pete’s drawing, and his eyes widen.

Because Pete drew Benedict Cumberbatch getting fucked in the ass with a vibrator that’s in a very naked Martin Freeman’s hands

The elevator doors open, and the fedora man hurries in there, his jaw dropped open, and Pete covers his drawing and tries to yell that _No, you weren’t meant to see that, come back here soul mate!_ but the elevator doors close, after Pete hears that same voice mutter “Oh my _god_ ”

* * *

“Do you know who our neighbor is? Right across from us?” Pete asks, as he colors in the lines in his Stress-Free Coloring Book. It's actually a  _very_ effective book. Pete completes them in his free time. 

“Patrick?” Travie eyes the book Pete’s coloring in with a raised eyebrow, but doesn’t mention it.

“I don’t know his name. Kind of chubby? Super pale, brownish blond hair?”

“Yeah, that’s Patrick. Met him a couple of times. Why?” They’re eating together at their dinner table, but they aren’t really eating as much as they’re coloring in things, and doodling. They have a _Gorillaz_ abum on in the background. 

“He’s _beautiful._ And his apartment is _beautiful_ ” He glances around their apartment- it’s nothing to write home about, in Pete’s opinion. In actuality, it’s almost as beautiful as Patrick’s but in a different way- it’s covered ceiling to floor in art and posters, and the fact that their apartment is, like, about to fall apart just adds to the vintage look to it.

“Um. How did you get in his apartment in the first place?” Travie once again looks up to give Pete a concerned look, but Pete bares his teeth “Didn’t get in, just looked into it since, y’know, I was sitting outside for, like, three hours and-“ Travie sucks his teeth “One! You waited for one hour! I apologized six times!”

“Still! Anyways, he, like, opened his door and I just happened to look in and man, have you seen it?! There are like flowers everywhere, it’s so vivid and nice and I _have to draw it”_

“So… why don’t you ask him? I’m sure he wouldn’t mind” Travie asks, as Pete bites his lip and turns his attention back to the book. Why can’t he ask him? Well. Patrick probably thinks he’s a creep, and homeless.

“Haha… well, about that…” Pete begins to say, and Travie brings a palm to his forehead. “Shit. What the hell did you do?”

“I may… or may not have drawn. Uh. Penises. And vibrators. In Benedict Cumberbatch’s ass”

Travie just reaches over the table to pat the book Pete’s coloring in. “Good luck”

* * *

The next time Pete sees Patrick, he’s drunk. Unbelievably, stupidly drunk.

Not for any _bad_ reason, he was just hanging out with Joe and they both had six too many drinks. And Pete hasn’t really felt that drunk since he was a teenager, but here he was, stumbling into the elevator (Joe’s apartment was only 5 floors below his own, but he didn’t trust himself to not fall asleep on the staircase), giggling to himself and waving goodbye to Joe, as Joe doubles over in laughter and waves goodbye.

And it's not even like Pete drank because he's an angsty art student who has _soooo_ many problems. He's just stupid and likes wine coolers. 

When he finally reaches his floor, he steps out of the elevator and automatically has to balance himself against the wall. Now, he’s not laughing at anyone but himself anymore, because he’s like one hundred percent sure he looks like a fucking idiot. He feels around his pocket for his keys, and he takes them out, before stumbling to Apartment 9D.

An apartment that, unfortunately, looks a lot like Apartment 9B, the apartment that Pete actually lives in.

He senses something is wrong when his keys don’t automatically turn. But he figures that it’s just his mind playing tricks on him, so he laughs and jingles the keys louder, pulling them out just to try to jam the keys back in. He fumbles with the door knob and shakes it once he finally gets the key fully in, but now _he can’t get the key to turn._

“Come on!” Pete slurs his words, shaking the door knob, and pulling his keys out once more to try it once again. By now, he’s making a hell of a lot of noise, with the shouting, and the door knob shaking and the jingling of the keys, and he, at once point, yells “Fuck!” a little too loud.

By now, he’s truly given up on the keys, and tears spring to his eyes cause he’s a drunken idiot, and he starts banging on the door “Travie! It’s me! Pete! Let me _innnnnn_ ”

And the door swings open- and Pete looks into a pair of blue eyes that _don’t_ belong to his roommate- and he’s holding a metal baseball bat, although his hands are shaking.

“What do you want?!” Patrick (Patrick? Is that his name? Pete can hardly remember his own goddamn apartment number and location, nevertheless someone he’s only glimpsed at once) yells, bringing the baseball bat up. Pete automatically backs away screaming “Ah, don’t kill me!”

“What do you want?! Why are you trying to get into my apartment!?” Patrick screeches- he’s not wearing any shoes, and he’s dressed in pajamas. His glasses practically slide down his nose, as he starts aimlessly swinging the bat. It’s one in the morning on a Monday night (or, rather, Tuesday morning), and their screams echo in the hallway, bouncing off the walls.

“I thought… I thought…” He can’t finish his sentences because he doesn’t know what to say, and Patrick looks really cute despite the circumstances, and oh God, Pete can see the brightly colored flowers behind Patrick. He can’t even move anymore, he’s just staring at the beauty of those _goddamn_ flowers.

But, Pete would have been smashed to death by Patrick if it weren’t for Travie opening his door, shirtless with only his boxers on. He looks pissed that he got waken up by the sounds of Pete screaming, but he watches the scene in front of him for a second, before understanding. Patrick’s kind of swinging the bat in all directions, and Pete’s half dodging the hits, half staring at the (admittedly pretty) flowers, and full on screaming.

“Woah!” He immediately grabs Pete, who automatically leans into his chest, wrapping his arms around his waist, and Patrick lowers the bat upon seeing Travie, breathing heavy, his eyes darting between the two.

“I’m _so_ sorry about him. Pete, uh, probably got the letters on the doors mixed up” Travie says sheepishly- he can recognize a drunk Pete anywhere. Pete nods against his chest, swaying slightly. He looks at Patrick (although it’s more like he’s staring at the flowers behind his back) “Didn’t know… ‘m drunk as _fuck_ ”

“You almost gave me a heart attack” Patrick coughs, his chest moving _in and out_ rapidly, before his eyes widen once again. He gets out in a rushed breath “Holy shit, I need my inhaler” and Pete starts screaming in Travie’s ear. "I killed my soul mate! I killed him!”

15 minutes later, Patrick’s safely in his apartment, after Travie had to run into Patrick’s apartment and look for Patrick’s asthma inhaler. And 15 minutes later, Pete’s puking in his toilet.

* * *

After that less than fortunate accident, Pete and Patrick didn’t see much of each other. Sometimes Pete would see him getting his mail, or he’d see him walking out of the building as Pete was walking in, but he’d always avert his eyes, and hope that Patrick wouldn’t see him.

Which was a shame, because Pete didn’t want to do anything _but_ look at Patrick. When Pete saw Patrick, he saw soft hair and a gentle smile (granted, the last time Pete even talked to Patrick, he was trying to kill him) and he saw flowers and the vines in the apartment. His fingers itched to paint it more than anything, now that he had free time (as much ‘free time’ as a college student could have, anyways)

“You need to introduce me to Patrick. Formally” Pete says in between chewing his cereal one morning. Travie just rolls his eyes. “Why? So you can give him another asthma attack?”

“Shut up, no. I’m… my fingers are itching to draw his goddamn apartment, okay, when I tell you I can’t stop thinking about it, I’m being serious”

“Then just _ask_ him. The guy who you almost killed” He replies coolly, smiling wickedly at Pete, and Pete growls, getting up to put his empty bowl in the sink before he snaps at throws it at Travie

“ _Fuck you_ , oh my God” He haphazardly throws a jacket on, and steps into his boots, because if he doesn’t go on a walk, he’s positive he’s going to kill Travie. “I’m going out!”

He puts his headphones in and he just walks. They live in the “bad” part of Chicago, but Pete’s been living here so long, he doesn’t necessarily care. He just keeps his hands in his pockets and hopes no one bothers him. The thing is, when he takes walks, he tends to wander and not watch where he’s going. He has his music on loud, and just lets his feet take him wherever he can go. And when he gets tired, he goes to the nearest bus stop and takes the bus home.

All is good in the world of Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz the Third, until Pete realizes that he has no money left for the bus, and absolutely no fucking clue where he is. And when it can’t get much worse, his phone dies. Listening to music for two hours while you wander around will do that a phone, when you’re Pete and have to change the song six billion times in an hour.

He spots a shop to his left- it’s a flower shop. Even though it’s cold outside, the flowers inside are still somehow vibrant and warm-looking, and it looks like something that Patrick would have in his apartment. And Pete’s not exactly above begging, so he does the only thing he can really do in a situation like this.

Walk in there and ask for 5 dollars.

He doesn’t expect this to go well, but if he doesn’t try, he’ll start crying and he doesn’t want to walk two hours while crying with no music.

When he opens the door, he takes a deep breath. The flowers automatically lifts his spirits, and it’s so warm and comforting inside the shop. He almost wants to bring his sketch book here and sit and draw everything, because it’s biting and cold outside, and yet. The flowers are blooming and beautiful here. He doesn’t even feel shame when he walks up to a flower and sniffs it.

He walks over to the counter slowly, taking his time to admire the flowers and plants on the way. No one is at the counter, but he can hear noise at the back of the shop that tells him that someone is here. His fingers reach out to ring the little bell, but he refrains, and just ends up waiting.

And he gets lost in his thoughts, until he hears someone clear their throat.

And it’s _Patrick_.

Of-fucking-course this guy is a florist. That would explain the healthy and beautiful flowers in his apartment, wouldn’t it? He’s behind the counter, wearing a red cardigan, and a faded black tee-shirt. He’s peering at Pete through his black-rimmed glasses, and he has this look on his face like he expects something to go horribly wrong any second now. And Pete doesn't blame him, either. 

“Um… Hi” Pete chokes out, instinctively reaching to brush the bangs out of his eyes. Patrick’s still looking at him like he can’t believe Pete found him here.

“Hey” Patrick gives him a small smile, although it looks like it’s out of curtesy. Pete doesn’t even care, this is the first time Patrick has smiled at him, and he loves it.

“Did you want to order something?” Patrick asks him, pushing a small binder in Pete’s direction. His voice is so soft, it kind of hurts whatever soul Pete has left.

“Uh… actually…” Pete can’t possibly ask Patrick for money. He can’t do that, not after he scarred Patrick with his drawing, not after he gave him a fucking asthma attack. So he just gulps. “I kind of. Got lost. And I don’t… I’m just gonna go” Pete sighs, turning back towards the exit. Tears spring to his eyes when he realizes that he’s going to have to walk alone in the dark for a really, really long time, but he’s bothered this poor guy enough, hasn’t he?

“No, what’s wrong?” Patrick’s eyebrows furrow, and he tugs on Pete’s sleeve a little. His expression isn’t exactly _soft,_ because he looks like he’s still vaguely pissed about the whole ‘banging-on-your-door-at-one-in-the-morning’ thing, but once he sees the tears in Pete’s eyes, his expressions softens immediately.

“I don’t have money and… and I got mad at Travie so I stormed out and now I don’t have money for the bus and I don’t want to… don’t want to bother you as much as I already have” Pete’s lip trembles, and he curses himself in his head, but he can’t stop babbling “and I’m a fucking dumb idiot, like you would think I would remember to bring my wallet with me but…” He trails off, trying to laugh away his tears. He wipes them with the sleeve of his shirt, before giving Patrick the most pathetic excuse for a smile ever “I’m okay. I’ll just walk”

“It’s a two hour walk, Pete-" This makes Pete look up. Patrick remembered his name? "-just… why don’t you stay here for a little and. Uh. I can drive you back” Patrick looks at Pete like he can’t believe he’s saying it either. “Don’t cry, man. When other people cry, I cry” He adds, giving Pete a small smile, before opening the door that leads to behind the counter. “I have an extra chair here, so…”

Pete has a problem of falling in love too fast. He knows it, everyone knows it. But he swears, he’s in love with Patrick. He just _saved_ him.

“Thank you _so_ much, holy shit, I don’t deserve this” Pete says, walking through the door, giving Patrick a bone-crushing hug. Patrick gasps at the unexpectedness, but he doesn’t push Pete away either, so Pete doesn’t mind. “You failed the first time but you actually might kill me if you hug me any tighter” Patrick says in a constrained voice, and Pete lets go, before grinning “I love you”

In the hour or so Pete has to stay to get a ride with Patrick, he already has made Patrick laugh so hard that he started snorting, and he’s already made him blush more times than he can count, so he drops the Big Question (no, not _that_ question)

“So uh… I know this is kind of early. But can I paint your apartment? I saw the inside for, like, two seconds and it’s so beautiful and I’m an artist and just. Can I paint your place?”

And Patrick says yes, rolling his eyes playfully before adding “And I remember, that you’re an artist. The one drawing I saw of yours was… pretty memorable”

* * *

The next day, Pete hauls a huge blank canvas into Patrick’s apartment, and his water color paints. It’s going to be work, but Pete wanted to use water color, since that’s what would fit best, in his Artist Opinion.

When Pete looks at the apartment all of its glory for the first time, he swears he almost collapses.

“ _Patrick_. This is beautiful” He turns to Patrick “You did all of this? You’re a fucking genius, babe”

Patrick sort of blushes at the nickname “Not your babe. And yeah, kinda.” He sighs “Flowers are the only thing I really understand. My parents are florists and y’know. Family business, I guess. Flowers and music, that is” He adds, before clearing his throat. “So, do you want me to do anything? Make some coffee? Put on a record for you?” Pete glances at his record player and smiles to himself. He’s into the arts, Patrick's into the arts. They go together like rama lama lama ka dinga da dinga dong (that’s the right lyric, right?)

“Whatever you want, I’ll just make myself busy here. And uh… thank you for. Giving me a second chance. Of sorts… like thanks for pitying me and letting me do this. You didn’t have to and…” Patrick just shrugs, before glancing at the metal baseball bat in the corner of the room.

“I owe you one, since I almost smashed you to death. Just yell for me if you need me” He gives Pete a little wave, before stepping into the kitchen.

Well, Pete sort of wants to just yell at the top of his lungs because he sorta needs Patrick all the time. Now that Pete’s met him, Patrick's  _kind of_ ridiculously awesome and perfect and Pete _kind of_ craves that. But whatever.

After that, Pete gets in The Zone. He doesn’t stop painting and screaming in frustration and focusing so hard his tongue peeks out of his mouth and accidentally spilling dirty water on himself until he’s sort of satisfied with his work. Patrick’s been in and out of the living room, putting on various albums for Pete, giving him coffee, etcetera etcetera. He tries to look at Pete’s work sometimes, but Pete just shakes his head, and doesn’t let him (“You gotta have patience, Trickster” “ _Where_ do you come up with these ridiculous nicknames? And for your information, I have a lot of patience. I’m dealing with you, aren’t I?” “Aw, little Tricky. You love me, though”)

Once he finally finishes, it’s dark outside, and Patrick’s dosing off on the couch, after he decided to watch Grease (and the lyric _is_ “We go together like rama lama lama ka dinga da dinga dong”). Pete wipes his face with his sleeve because he was starting to sweat, and he walks over to nudge at Patrick- he looks adorable, with his glasses off and his eyelids closed, his dark eyelashes contrasting with his pale skin. Patrick wants to draw Patrick next. Like one of his French girls.

“Huh?” Patrick blinks a couple of times, adjusting to the light of the room. “Wake up, man. You fell asleep” Pete pinches Patrick’s cheek, and Patrick slaps his hand “Ow! Did you finish?” He looks over to the painting, and his jaw drops.

Because, just like how Patrick is an amazing florist, Pete is an amazing artist. The colors aren’t as vivid as Pete wanted them to be, since he was using water colors, but they look fucking amazing all the same. Patrick’s dumb little apartment looks fucking amazing, because Pete captured the flowers and vines, sure. (not to, in any way, ignore the flowers and vines. Because they look so realistic, and in Patrick’s own opinion, better on paper) But, Pete also captured Patrick’s posters, the vinyl collection, and most of all, he even captured the _baseball bat_ in the corner.

“Oh my god. Pete” is the only thing that Patrick can really say, and Pete laughs “That bad?”

“Shut up, idiot.  It’s… it’s amazing! What the fuck, you have a gift, Pete! You’re the next... Vincent Van Gogh! That’s his name, right?” “Yup. And stop, it’s not that good!"

Patrick punches him lightly in the arm "Stop that. I love it, Pete" He looks at him, before stifling a laugh "Um, you have some paint on your face" Pete looks down at his sleeve, where he wiped his face, and groans. Here he is, admiring Patrick's beauty, while he has yellow paint on his face. "Shit, do you have a..." He begins to say, but Patrick already has one hand on Pete's shoulder, and the fingers on his other hand are wiping away the paint gently.

Patrick's fingers are cool against his skin, and this shouldn't be hot, except it kind of is. Patrick's looking into Pete's eyes as he does this, concentrating on getting the paint off of his face. He wipes it on his pajama pants, but he's still looking into Pete's eyes, grinning like he knows something Pete doesn't. And out of nowhere, Patrick mutters "I'm gonna kiss you now. If that's okay?" Pete just nods and tilts his head, letting Patrick wrap his arms around Pete's neck, lets him kiss him. He kisses back, smiling into their kiss because he kind of can't believe his luck. Their kiss is chapped lips and coffee breath, but Pete's kissing _Patrick,_ someone he thought he would never be able to talk to because how dumb he is. When they pull away, they look at each other, before laughing at absolutely nothing- maybe it's the nerves, maybe it's because a week ago Patrick was trying to kill Pete.

"So... your painting!" Patrick says once they stop giggling like two idiots, still smiling wide. "My painting! My shitty painting!" Patrick shakes his head, turning to look at it again. Except this time, Patrick's shoulder is touching Pete's, and he doesn't make an effort to move it. "I'll beat you with my baseball bat if you say that again" 

Yeah, this is definitely Pete's soul mate 

**Author's Note:**

> fun fact: i typed "basketball bat" like 6 times before realizing that. oh yeah. basketball bats dont exist! 
> 
> also idk how to end stories. but. idk.


End file.
